


Blooming

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Series: A Court of War and Starlight One-Shots [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elain and Lucien steal a moment alone together after Lucien returns to the Summer Court from a reconnaissance mission in the Spring Court. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Blooming

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same timeline as my extended fan fiction, "A Court of War and Starlight." You do not have to read all of “A Court of War and Starlight” to understand this fic, only that Lucien and Elain are taking refuge in the Summer Court and Lucien has begun working as a agent for Feyre and Rhys to round up opposition to Hybern.

 

Her breath stopped when she saw him approaching over the swaying green grasses.

 _Three days_ , she reminded herself. He’d only been gone three days.

But she’d worried like a madwoman the whole time, flowers bursting from her skin whenever her nerves reached a peak. She’d learned to control the flowers in the time that she had been the Summer Court, but when thoughts of Lucien being in harm’s way spun through her mind, the magic acted of its own accord. Amren had eventually kicked Elain out of her room because she was producing far too many flowers for the ancient creature’s liking.

Now she bit her lip as her eyes fixed on the horizon, the ever-present vines twirling around her fingers as a rapid pace as her excitement grew.

 _Be dignified_ , she told herself.

Impossible.

The moment he’d looked up and seen her, his metal eye flashing in the afternoon sun, she had burst into a run, skirts flying as she tore across the meadow and flung herself into his arms, planning to kiss his mouth but missing, so that her lips landed somewhere between his lips and his chin.

He had laughed and wrapped his arms fully around her, raising her up off the ground and righting her so that he could give her a proper kiss, which lasted until Elain couldn’t breathe properly. Lucien set her down on the ground and pushed her golden hair behind her long, tapered ear. “Careful,” he said, “or someone might think you’d missed me.”

Elain blushed. “I _did_ miss you,” she said. “I thought I was going to go mad waiting here by myself. What have you done to me?”

“What have _I_ done to _you_?” Lucien teased, a smile of adoration on his lips. “Maybe you ought to explain to me why I couldn’t stop thinking about you for a single minute while I was gone.”

They grinned at each other like fools before Lucien hooked a finger under her chin and kissed her again.

So fast. This had all been so fast. They had known each other less than three weeks but Elain felt as though she’d known him years. As if he’d always been there--or the promise of him had--and now her spirit had no hesitations about including him in her life, in her soul.

Even Amren had expressed some surprise when Elain had been fussing over Lucien’s second trip to the Spring Court. “Perhaps I’ve gotten too used to being around people like Rhys and Mor, who make stubbornness an art,” she had said, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall in love so fast.”

Elain wasn’t afraid to say it either--she loved Lucien. Growing up she had always felt like something was wrong with her, when she didn’t love in return all the young men who had courted her. She hadn’t worried too much, since she knew that love wasn’t a requirement for marriage where she was from. But she still wondered--still wished. She did not remember a great deal about her mother--the memories that stood out the strongest were how passionately and deeply she had loved their father. This in itself was one of the greatest mysteries Elain had ever faced. It wasn’t that she didn’t see the good in her father, but . . . the two of them had seemed so different. The love that her mother and father had possessed . . . Elain had always wanted something just like it, but had stopped expecting it long ago.

She had almost given up too soon.

“You’re all right?” she asked, taking a single step back and running her hands over what she thought might be the potential weak spots in Lucien’s leather armor.

He watched her, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Fit as a fiddle, Elain.” His russet and metal eyes fixed on hers. “Are you?”

“There’s little that can harm me, here,” she said.

Lucien hummed and looked out over the meadow, as though he was scanning it. “My history has taught me never to take such things for granted.” Elain felt the twinge in her heart at the reminder of his history, which had so thoroughly shaped him that she knew it was a straight miracle he was letting her anywhere near him.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been practicing with my magic,” Elain said, tilting her head. “I can do thorns now. And I successfully gave Varian hives the other day after his pride got the better of him.”

Lucien laughed. “Did you now? How did Tarquin react to that?”

“He laughed so hard the manor shook.”

Lucien kissed Elain’s temple. “I’d love to see what you’ve been practicing. Care for a stroll?”

Excitement fluttered in Elain’s stomach. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m not too tired for you,” Lucien said, his grin turning mischievous. Elain just smiled and hooked her arm through his, and he led her down the well-worn trails of the tame forest. She knew--or had heard--that wilder things lurked deeper in, and she hadn’t been brave enough to find out what they were. Or rather, she hadn’t been foolish enough. In spending time with the fae, she had learned that many of them did not quite understand the difference between the two sentiments.

For a while they walked in silence, until Elain asked him to tell her what he’d done over in the Spring Court. He told her. She knew he kept the more alarming details from her, but she didn’t press him for them. He did tell her the kinds of fae he’d met, the information he’d been able to gather, and basic information about how the war was going. She knew he didn’t want to burden her with logistics or details that would make her fear even more for him. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know those things. Not until she could do anything to help--which she didn’t think would be for a long while.

They arrived at a small clearing with wildflowers growing at the edges. Lucien paused at an oak tree and unbuckled his pauldrons and the leather breastplate that was cut perfectly to his figure but was a bit heavy and warm. It thudded to the ground, and Elain unabashedly watched him as he loosed the buttons at his throat, revealing his slightly suntanned throat. Her pulse quickened and her skin burned as she saw his throat bob. She wanted to kiss it--wanted to run her hands over his shoulders and his back. She was frightened of how strongly this desire struck her.

She held it back, though, and he caught her staring at him. He let out a long breath and sent her a small smile. “How do you manage to be so beautiful?” he asked, his eyes smoldering--both metal and russet.

She blushed, but all she said as she extended her hand was, “Come sit with me.”

He wrapped his calloused fingers over her smooth ones and let her lead him down into the calm grass beside her. They inhaled the sweet summer breezes and sat in companionable silence, and so they dithered away the afternoon, taking pure joy in nothing more than the presence of the other.

Lucien laid on his back in the grass, his head in Elain’s lap, and she combed his long red hair with her fingers. “I’ve never met a man with such long hair before,” she mentioned as she wove tiny flowers through its lengths.

“I could change it if you don’t like it,” Lucien offered, and she fixed him with a disbelieving look.

“It’s so pretty!” she protested. “I’d never ask you to cut it.”

There was a flicker of something on Lucien’s face that Elain didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t want to spoil their peace by asking about it. “I’m glad you’re helping,” she said instead. “I don’t feel like I’m doing much of anything useful, but you . . . you could change how this war goes, Lucien, and I’m glad you’re finding a part to play.”

A long breath shuddered out of Lucien and he closed his eyes. A small smile lifted his lips. “I might not be nearly as useful if someone hadn’t announced my magic to all our allies.”

Elain blushed. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Lucien pushed himself up and knelt so that he faced her in the grass. “I don’t talk about my magic much and sometimes I forget it can be helpful.”

“Why not?” Elain asked with a small frown. “Why not talk about it? It sounds amazing, what you can do.”

“Many reasons,” Lucien said with a sigh. “There’s a part of my magic that I still do not touch, refuse to touch; other parts of my magic I was simply told weren’t useful enough to pay attention to, so I didn’t.”

Tamlin. Elain knew Tamlin had told him that. Elain knew next to nothing about the High Lord of Spring, only that he had mistreated both her sister and Lucien--and had been at least partly responsible for Elain’s own Making. She saw him sometimes, prowling the edges of the estate, Princess Cresseida always somewhere nearby, minding him. Elain had never dared approach him, and never cared to. Some small part of her that laid dormant most of the time stirred and burned when she thought of what Tamlin had done to those she loved.

“What part don’t you touch?” she asked, pulling some grass from his tunic..

Lucien hesitated. “The magic of the Autumn Court. Fire.”

Elain thought for a moment. “Besides the reminder of home--and what happened--why not use it? Why let them take that from you?”

“Fire destroys,” Lucien said, his voice tight. He cast his eyes away from hers. “Fire hurts and harms and kills. It reminds me of my father and brothers, yes, but it also reminds me of how easily things can be eradicated.”

“That makes sense,” Elain said. She took his hands in hers. “But consider this.” He raised his eyes to meet hers, lips parted slightly. “When we were almost starving to death in that cabin all those years,” she said, “fire was the only thing keeping us alive. It gave us light in the dark and heat to survive by. It cooked our food and boiled our water. And it gave us a place to sit together and banish away the cold and dark things that surrounded us. Fire might be capable of destruction . . . but it can also bring good things. It can keep people alive.”

Lucien’s eyes were bright with wonder as he searched her face. “Whatever force of the world brought you to me, Elain, I am thankful for it every day.”

Their eyes met and the world stilled around them. Elain’s eyes were drawn to his mouth and his to hers, and in the next moment they moved toward each other at once to kiss. It was off-balanced at first, but Lucien adjusted his position so that he kneeled just beside her, his hand cupping the back of her head as he moved his lips insistently against hers. The kiss was open and lovely, silent questions and answers being exchanged with each movement of their mouths. She adored the softness of him--she’d never kissed anyone before Lucien, not even Riordan, and she was quite sure she would never be able to kiss anyone else again, so dearly did she love his kisses.

Elain did not protest when Lucien lowered her onto her back in the grass, never breaking the kiss. Her hands gripped the front of his tunic, drawing him closer to her until he had to straddle her, his lean body casting a shadow over her. He finally pulled away and caressed her cheek with his fingers, his mismatched eyes boring holes into hers. He dragged his finger up and down her cheek, along her jaw. Then to her throat. Then to her collarbone. Then lower.

The whole time, his eyes searched hers, looking for any indication that he should stop. When his fingers traced the soft curve of her breast, she gasped in surprise--but didn’t break eye contact. “It’s all right,” she breathed. “You can touch me there. Only . . . don’t tell Nesta.”

The devious glint in her eyes caused an equally devilish grin to spread across Lucien’s face, and his fingers began untying the laces that crossed over her breasts. She never stopped him, not even when he pulled away the upper layer and her ribs expanded beneath him. His fingers then resumed their tracing over her soft white skin. Then, pausing once before daring to go on, he slid his hand down the neckline of her dress, between her breasts.

Elain’s body began to react of its own accord, then. At the feeling of his hand between her breasts, skin no man had ever dared touch--no matter how longingly they’d eyed them--she sucked in a long breath and arched into the touch, until Lucien’s hands slid lower to run his fingers beneath her breast, his calloused fingers rubbing the skin there in slow, wondering strokes. She tipped her head back, and Lucien understood the silent invitation. His lips met her throat, placing slow, sensual kisses at the pale skin there. At the same rhythm he kissed, his hand continued to caress each breast, thumb flicking over the peaked nipple and sweeping beneath until his whole palm cupped first one, then the other.

“Elain . . .” he breathed, the word brushing her throat like a silken scarf. Never in her life had her name sounded so beautiful--like something holy, unpronounceable except by the most righteous. His tongue licked the length of her throat and she whimpered, her hands tangling in the hair at the back of his head as she silently urged him on--further.

He removed his hands from her breasts and slid his hands beneath her shoulders, lifting her to press against his chest as he fell onto his back, dragging her on top of him. Her golden hair cascaded over both of them and their bodies were flush together. Elain’s pulse pounded in a way she had never experienced before, and an unfamiliar hunger tore through her body. She wasn’t even half-sure what to do with it, but she knew she wanted _him_. She pressed a long, deep kiss to his lips, drawing a kiss from him in return as though she were drinking a heavenly elixir. His hands splayed across her back, holding her close, and she tried not to focus on what their hips felt like pressed so close together. Her hands clasped the sides of his face as she kissed him, both of them savoring the warmth of the summer sun and each other’s bodies.

Though she hated to tear herself away, she sat up, straddling him so she was perched on his torso, and her vine-woven fingers began undoing the buttons of his tunic as he watched her, hunger and awe on his scarred face. Her face heated as the beautiful ivory skin of his muscled chest appeared before her, and she ran her fingers over it reverently.

His fingers folded over hers, holding them over his heart. “Elain,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I don’t want you think--” He paused, closing his eyes as he tried to find the words. “I don’t want you to think that you have to do this.”

Elain thought she felt her heart shattering. That he felt he had to say this, as though she wouldn’t choose him . . . “Why do you do that?” she asked breathlessly. She’d seen it ever since she’d first agreed to try this with him, to stop fighting whatever was drawing them together. The way there was doubt in his eyes whenever she kissed him--not because he didn’t want to kiss her, but almost as though he thought himself unworthy of it. And even now . . . now when she had been the one to urge him on, to ask for this . . . he still doubted that she really wanted him.

Lucien grimaced, but his hands moved to brace her hips. “I’m sorry. It’s only . . . well, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to be in love with me. Be bonded to me.”

Elain huffed. “Well, it’s a good thing you _aren’t_ me, then, isn’t it? Because I don’t give a damn what you’ve done or haven’t, or what you think yourself worthy of. The only thing I know for sure is that I’ve never been as happy in my life as I have been these past weeks with you. And I don’t know what that says about me--if I’m a fool in love or a silly child who doesn’t understand her own heart--but I _want_ you, Lucien. I’m _choosing_ you.”

Elain tore away from Lucien’s hands and stood to her feet before stalking over to the edge of the clearing, where the edge of a wild apple orchard began. She held out her hand to one of the bare branches and a rich, red apple ripe for eating grew from the branch. With a twist of her wrist, she pulled it from the tree and turned around. She let out a small gasp when she saw that Lucien had followed her and come up behind her as silently as a fox. He stared down at her, mere inches between them. His scent--cinnamon and embers and crisp leaves--wafted over her.

She swallowed and shoved the apple at his chest. “Eat it,” she said.

Lucien’s russet eye widened and he stepped back. “What?” he croaked. “I--do you--?”

“Yes, I know,” Elain said, her firm voice already beginning to tremble. “I know this means I’m accepting the bond, that I’m choosing you. I know this is for eternity, and I am not even sure I understand what eternity even is yet but I know that I want to find out with you and--” She held back the flood of words that were pouring from her lips. “I’m babbling again,” she whispered. The hand that held the apple between them began to shake.

Lucien closed the space he had made between them, and both of his hands cupped around hers and the apple. There was an expression of such heartbreaking love on his face that Elain’s throat closed and she could barely breathe. “I could listen to you babble for eternity,” he breathed. Then, not releasing her hands, he lifted the apple to his lips and took a bite.

Elain wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but the moment Lucien finished chewing they both dropped the apple and fell into kissing, Elain tasting the sticky-sweet juices of the apple from his lips. His strong arms wrapped around her whole body, drawing her so close to him she wasn’t entirely sure where he ended and she began. She opened his mouth to him and his tongue plunged in, learning every corner and crevice of her mouth.

Then, her back was against the crooked trunk of the apple tree, his lips and tongue and teeth caressing her neck, nibbling her ear, and she let out a long, ragged sigh as she finished the work she had started earlier and pushed his tunic off his strong shoulders. Her fingers clutched there, hardly long enough to fit over his shoulders at all.

She gasped as his strong hands wrapped around her waist and turned her around so that she had to grip the trunk of the tree instead while he unlaced her gown in the back with nimble, skilled fingers. She heard him suck in a breath when the pale skin of her back was finally exposed to him, and he brushed away her long golden hair like a curtain, tracing his fingers down the ridge of her spine.

She whirled around, one hand still holding her dress up around her breasts--not because she was shy, but because she wanted to see his face when she revealed them to him for the first time. She stared him down, both their faces flushed, and with a smile unlike any Elain had ever worn before, she let her dress fall down around her ankles.

Lucien swallowed, his eye wide as he surveyed her naked body. “You’re perfect,” he growled.

She stepped close to him and his hands reached around to hold her waist. Her breath caught in her chest at the feeling of his callouses on the fresh, untouched skin there. Her eyes never left his, not until she tipped her head back and let him kiss her--everywhere.

Later, Elain would try to remember each of his caresses individually, where his hands and lips had gone from one moment to the next, but for her it all blurred together. Every stroke, touch, kiss was so brilliant and shining that it seemed silly to try and pick any one of them that outshine any other. She could remember when they’d laid beside each other in the grass, they skin of their chest pressing against each other as Lucien slowly worked his hands lower and lower down her body--slow, so that she was ready for every moment.

She stopped him at one point, only to say, “This is my first time. Don’t let that worry you, but . . . if I don’t--if I’m not--”

He paused her words with a kiss. “You’ll be wonderful. But tell me the moment you don’t like something, and I’ll stop.” And when he said it, she knew _this_ wasn’t about his own insecurities--he just wanted to make sure she was happy and comfortable. And she loved him even more for that.

He had taken his time with her, playing her body like a fine instrument, and she had been the excited one when she’d ground her hips against his, teasing him up and then practically tearing the trousers from him with her newfound fae strength. He had growled in pleasure but continued his slow progression, until the ache in her was so great she begged for him, begged for release.

When they finally merged, it was as though the entire world had become nothing but summer’s light. She wasn’t sure if it was the sun or their bond or something else entirely, but when they moved together Elain felt something fuse them, bind them together with an unbreakable certainty. It was the promise that had existed between them now becoming full and beautiful, sealed by their kisses and the shared sweetness of the apple she’d offered him and their lovemaking.

Lucien guided her skillfully over the precipice of pleasure, and when it had overcome her the grass around them burst into colorful blooms, flowers of every kind filling the air with their sweet fragrances.

She clung to him when it was over, their bodies sweat-slicked and their breath harried, but their faces lit with smiles that threatened the radiance of the sun. “I feel it,” she breathed, staring into his eyes. “Lucien, I feel _you_.” She nuzzled her nose into the crook between his neck and his shoulder and began to hum a tune that she hadn’t heard since she was a child, but that had lingered in her soul for such a time as this.

Lucien stiffened. “Where . . . where did you hear that song?” he asked as his fingers combed her hair. His lips brushed her temple.

“My mother sang it to me when I was little, before she died,” Elain answered. “She never sang it to Feyre or Nesta. Just me, whenever we were alone. Why?”

“It’s a fae song,” Lucien said hoarsely. “Every fae mother sings that to her child at some point. I haven’t heard it myself in a long time. But I would know it anywhere.”

Elain’s eyebrows furrowed as she traced Lucien’s strong bicep with her fingers. “Why would my mother know a fae song?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien said, “but I would listen to you sing it all day if I could.”

Elain smiled and kissed his jaw. “Maybe we can arrange that.” She began humming the song again, in time to her fingers stroking his body. And as they lay in the flowers beneath the glowing sun, they basked in each other and in the deep beauty of their mating bond, assured in knowing that nothing in heaven and earth could steal this piece of paradise that they had buried in their souls.


End file.
